2006-01-05 @ 2:14 p.m.
Woohoo! Woot! Yahoo! Thanka Jesus, Allah, Richard Simmons and all you holy guys. Thanka, thanka, thanka! Thanks for letting that x-ray I got last Friday show that I DON’T, in fact, have a broken rib!! Woot!! Woot!
Yeah, right. Like I really thought it was. But, of course, my doctor always like to err on the side of
This woman knows I have really bad fibromylgia and also chostochondritis, but suddenly all this pertinent information just flew right out the window because I was soon off to get x-rays with Joe the X-Ray Guy. He was actually kind of cute and how often do I get to hear a guy ask me to strip to the waist?
In the meantime, my Doctor prescribed (SURPRISE!!) a new painkiller. She did ask me if I was still taking the one that was listed on my 23 inch thick file. Ultram. HA! She had given me a couple of samples of Ultram like 5 years ago. So I said no and she give me a new prescription, and that’s where I’ve been the last couple of days....TOTALLY STONED. Man, that stuff is strong. Its not even the fun kind of stoned where you sit in your bedroom and look up at your Beatles poster and are convinced that John Lennon is channeling new song lyrics to you. I’ve just been really tired and sleeping a lot. On Monday when I got home from work, I changed into my gym clothes and sneakers and was going to go over to the “Y” to burn off some calories from my ever increasing girth, but then I made the mistake of laying down on my bed for a minute around 2 p.m. and then the next thing I knew, it was dark out. I had fallen asleep for about 3 hours. I still had my sneakers on....under the covers.
So I think I’ve discovered the secret of painkillers...you sleep so much you're not awake to feel the pain. So I’ve stopped taking them. I have things to do. I’m used to pain. I live with it everyday. I’ll just suck it up.
Saw the everdelightful “A” on Tuesday. We had a good session. He’s finally coming back to being the old “A” which makes me really happy. Ever since he went to work with the big corporate place, he had gotten sort of, well corporate. I missed the old funny, funky, silly “A” who would quote Austin Powers and such. I mean, its not like that’s all he did. He was serious for 98% of my session, but then we would be silly for a little bit of it. That’s why I was always so fond of him. I guess we’re going to be starting up my group with him again and I’m very happy about that. Its funny, I co-facilitate as many as 4 different support groups at work, but of course I can’t really talk about my stuff in them, because I’m co-facilitating. “A” was deciding whether the group would be Monday or Thursday. I kind of yelped when he said Monday because that is the only day I have actual hours at work, so he said he’d try to make the group Thursday. So YAY!
My Empowerment Group is starting up once again and I’m a little miffed. I wasn’t sure if we had the funding and we actually don’t. So in our little meeting yesterday (everyone was 15 minutes late...SURPRISE!), my two co-horts were tossing around the money question. I guess, come to find out, they make $3 more an hour than I do. Guess its all those fancy degrees! Woo. Doesn’t matter that I do as much, if not more than them, in some cases. That I’m always on time. That I’m the only one who sparks debate in group, because they don’t know what people with mental illness go through. They only know what they read about in books. Grrr!
I did go to my art class last night. I guess I was hoping for a little hugging action from Charlemagne the Obnoxious French Guy, but he wasn’t there last night. Darn. I had told “A” about my quest for hugs. I also told him that I’ve renamed the new year: Two Thousand and Sex. He thought that was a good goal. :-)
At the break, we were all gathered around the snack table. Our little Goth intern had brought in a tin of fudge which I quickly renamed “Crack for women with PMS”, since I managed to scarf up about 5 pieces. It was the best fudge I have ever eaten since the beginning of time. Forget Ultram, I’ll just take this fudge interveniously.
But my friend “L” the Hippie Chick was there trying to dip her chip into some hummus dip that was hard as a rock. Another older guy started to recount seeing “L” in the bank the other day. I guess she had a Playboy magazine in her hand and was admiring an ad for a new book about Pablo Picasso, written by his daughter. It has images of his erotic art, including the cover which is a mere four line drawing representing the female genitalia. I guess, as they were standing in line for a teller, “L” showed the picture to CT. Now just because people draw nekkid people once a week doesn’t mean they’re altogether comfortable with looking at erotic art in the middle of bank lobby. I guess he kind of looked briefly and then kind of wobbled nervously. Well, “L” is kind of a lively Earth Mother type. I guess she told him it was a picture of “Picasso’s pussy.” I was eating a Dorito chip when she was telling the story and nearly coughed a Dorito out through my nose. Yeah, it was pretty offensive, but kinda funny. I would have paid to see poor CT’s expression. He kind of looks like a big old Bassett Hound anyways.
Picasso's Pussy. I just can't make this stuff up, ya know.
Lyrics by Lennon/McCartney. All angst copyright by awittykitty